


One More Time, I’ll Roll Today Too

by Sapphire09



Series: Il Mio Bambino- [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Bad Parenting, Betrayal, Childhood Trauma, Emotionally Compromised, Hurt Tony Stark, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Howard Stark, Psychological Trauma, Stockholm Syndrome, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, Winteriron endgame, implied torture to a child, programmed tony stark, protective maria stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-08-31 09:49:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8573632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphire09/pseuds/Sapphire09
Summary: When a portal suddenly appeared on the Wakandan Sky, it brought a few surprises along before it disappeared. With it, came along a long-time feeling that had been long since buried. Well, maybe not entirely. It was a work in progress. Still, a work in progress.His parents appearing again couldn't be good for said work that is 'still' in progress.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part II! Previous warning still apply here: Protective Howard and Maria Stark. Abusive Howard and Maria Stark. Stockholm Syndrome Tony. Because he still loves them. Rhodey knows. Mainly post Civil War, but then again this is probably better not tied up with any universe. Pretty dark, since there is also torture to a child. I don’t know how to tag this right. Nothing graphic, because I'm not sure I'm good with that.
> 
> I'm not entirely sure about the WinterIron endgame anymore. But, I'm still planning it! It'll still be a bit while until Bucky's appearance, tho'

Tony could barely remember a time when he had believed, without doubt, that he was loved. A childhood faith that clung stubbornly and unchallenged. But, he knew that long ago, he had. Indisputable and undeniable, the way children believed.

(He watched the videos, the documentary of his time on _that_ chair. Even the him in there still believed in the words his mother had spoken, believed in the love that was familiar to him. His small hands, reaching for the people that kept hurting him, asking for protection from his tormentor. A child, not understanding why would the two most important people in his world would _hurt_ him)

He remembered the time _after_ , neither clearer nor blurrier than most of his earlier memories, yet separate and didn’t feel much like _his._

He remembered the lack of pain the most, the void in his chest and feeling nothing. There was no anger or sadness, no fear or joy. There were only his parents, his protectors and only whose voices he could hear. There was only his mind, calculating and thinking and inventing, his parents pride was all he needed to know if he had done right or wrong. His heart was of no consequence, no influence, trapped inside an iron cage adorned with gold and blood rubies.

A gaping emptiness where he simply _existed_.

(There was no satisfaction, no fun, nothing was dull and nothing was boring and nothing was nice—one would think he shouldn’t be able to remember those days at all)

When Jarvis took him away, he treated it as a kidnapping, after it was clear he hadn’t seen his _parents_ for too long than usual, his routine interrupted by their absence. He calculated exits, inventing keys and ways to escape, creating bombs and explosion in his way to return to his parents.

_(Mamma, Papà, where are you?)_

He didn’t remember how long when he finally heard Jarvis’ voice.

(Too long—too soon— _it hurts_ )

* * *

The portal appeared out of nowhere, in a sudden flash of light. For a moment, Steve had been afraid, expecting aliens or otherworldly being to come and—

( _‘Tony was right. God, he was right’_ )

Another flash appeared in the sky, and the portal disappeared not long after it appeared, faded in to the distant horizon like a trick of light.

“You did see that, right?” someone asked and others confirmed that yes, they saw it. The sky did rip open, but nothing came out and nothing came in before it closed again.

But the anomaly was enough to put everyone on guard.

Steve and his team was ready to move, to protect the country that hid them from the world. But, T’Challa had stopped them and told them his people will investigate, and they should lay low, as they were disliked even by the people of Wakanda.

_(Whose people are they now? No, their own. They were each other’s.)_

With heavy heart he stood back as T’Challa mobilized his Dora Milaje to investigate, leaving a few to guard them when he went to follow in his Black Panther costume. Steve waited, looking in the distance of where the portal had appeared, wondering if another crisis, another alien invasion was coming.

“Last time, we only won because of Tony,” Clint said suddenly, appearing to his right. He stared towards the distance, knowing without doubt what was bothering Steve.

“We also had Hulk and Thor,” Clint said again, his expression far grimmer than when Steve had seen him in the Raft. Steve kept his sight on the distance outside, the spot where the portal appeared.

(Steve didn’t want to be here. He wanted his sketchbooks and his drawings. He wanted the room he almost managed to make his own back. He wanted the loud laughter and domesticity he finally found with his newfound family. He wanted a harmless banter, someone that would think with him and--)

“I don’t know what happened,” Clint’s tone was almost bitter, a little angry even, “I thought I did. I was sure I did. But, now that I have time to think, I don’t, not really. None of us really know, do we?”

Steve didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to. Because, in the end, he was the only one with all the pieces, all the information. In the end, he chose what pieces to tell those behind him, while keeping the rest to himself. He told himself it was right.

(Tony told him he was wrong)

“Of course,” Clint scoffed, anger and bitterness in his words. He turned away, leaving to the farthest side away from Steve.

There was a hand on his shoulder, a sympathetic expression and an attempt to comfort. Steve merely nodded, grateful, before the hand left him. Sam turned away then, going towards where the rest was huddling, silently discussing while waiting for T’Challa to return.

Steve waited.

_(Waiting, waiting, always waiting until everything was too late)_

Finally, their silence was interrupted by hurried footsteps. People were running around, passing the room they had gathered in. Steve was moving towards the door, But Clint had been closer. He stopped one of the personnel and asked for the situation.

“His Highness told us to prepare the medical room. We were told that something _did_ came out from the rip in the sky earlier. Only, they weren’t aliens, but humans.”

“How can we help?”

The personnel’s expression turned stern. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid all of you must stay here until we have more information. His Majesty’s orders,” he said before he left to wherever he was about to go before Clint interrupted him.

“Should we go find out anyway?” Wanda asked, hands crossed in front of her. “We’re not exactly prisoners here, right?”

Sam and Scott was standing near her, looking at him for answers.

(Steve didn’t want to answer)

“We should at least wait for T’Challa to come back,” Steve said. “Nothing seemed to be burning or exploding, and no one was preparing for a fight. I think T’Challa’s people know what they’re doing.”

Everyone seemed to accept that. Steve could hear Clint scoffing as he walked away, going back to the windows. Scott, Sam, and Wanda went back, huddling together again and exchanging theories.

Steve waited.

_(A soldier out of time)_

* * *

 

A phone rang.

“T’Challa?”

_“We have a problem. A portal opened on Wakanda’s sky.”_

Tony frowned, moving quickly towards the common room, where he last seen Vision and Rhodey, eating together and discussing the Accords for the umpteenth time. While most of the important amendments have went through, there are still things that should be changed for the better. When the list of active Avenger no longer consisted of three people, more compromises needed to be made to cover the needs of the more varied list of members.

“What? Is it aliens again?” he asked, hand gestured for FRIDAY to pull up screens, ready to find out everything about the portal. News, articles, including social media that might capture images of whatever enemies they might need to face.

_“..No. Our experts think it’s a time portal–or something like it. And–Tony, I need you to calm down.”_

Tony finally arrived at the common room, Vision and Rhodey glancing curiously at him when he didn’t enter further.

“Why?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

_“Because–it’s your parents. Tony, your parents came from the portal before it disappeared, and now they’re in Wakanda and demanding to see you.”_

For a second, the words didn’t compute in his brain.

“My parents are dead,” Tony’s words were said without emotion, cold and hard. Vision and Rhodey stood, concerned by the words. Rhodey looked at his best friend questioningly, mouth forming a soundless “Who?”

_“Yes, I know. Our experts said they may have come from the past, but neither of them could confirm this.  They claim to remember nothing besides who they are and you.”_

Tony still couldn’t process most of the words T’Challa had said. From his peripheral, Vision had already asked FRIDAY of who was calling and have her explain the situation. Rhodey’s eyes narrowed and told FRIDAY to put the call on loudspeaker.

“That doesn’t make any sense. For them to remember me, then they have to remember I’ve been born. Ergo, they have to remember their past. Then, there has to be a point where said memory ended, which will give you the earliest time from when they might have come from. That’s not nothing.”

Tony didn’t want to see them.

(He wanted to see them)

_“I’ve tried. But their answers kept looping back to you. They didn’t know what they were doing before they ended up here and they kept asking if we know you. You seem to be the only thing they remember. And—“_

Tony wished the King would stop talking. Rhodey’s lips thinned, eyebrows furrowed in displeasure. Vision also had a small frown of disapproval.

_“—this is, perhaps, a little too forward. I am not sure yet if you think of me as a friend, but I do like you and I’d like to think that we are friends. Perhaps this is meddling, but I think it will do you good to see them again. I’ve seen your anger towards their death. Maybe this could be a gift, a chance for you to finally say your farewell. A closure.”_

Before Tony could answer (what would he say?), Rhodey cut through the conversation.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, for interrupting. But, I don’t think this is a good time for Tony to leave the states. The new amendments for the Accords have just recently gone through and Tony is a mentor for a few of the younger new heroes. His presence is needed here. If all you need is someone to confirm their identities, then I can go in his stead. I’ve been Tony’s friend since before his parent’s death. I think I can confirm them for you.”

Tony was grateful for Rhodey’s answer. He wanted to take the gaping, big chance Rhodey had just given him.

“No, I think I can spare a few days,” was what he said instead.

“Tony!”

“I mean, Kitty Cat is right. This is a good chance for me to get some closure. Also, I’m curious about the portal. Did you get some readings on the portal when it appeared, Catty? Maybe I can find something out while I’m there.”

Rhodey looked at him disapprovingly, so much that Tony was sure his best friend was going to yell. Vision didn’t say anything, but it was more because he deferred to Rhodey at these times.

“I’m coming with you,” Rhodey said, his tone dared him to argue.

Tony wouldn’t. He tried anyway.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. With me gone, I'm gonna need you to hold the vultures back, Platypus.”

Rhodey glared harder.

“You’ll contact the UN and I’ll contact Hope and Carol and inform them that we won’t be in the states for a few days. Vision will be our backup in case something went wrong. The Defenders, Spiderman, and Ms. Marvel will also need to be notified to hold up the fort in case something happens while we’re in Wakanda. We’ll leave at noon and I _am_ coming with _you_.”

Everything Rhodey said destroyed his own previous argument and Tony was pretty sure T'Challa knew what Rhodey was actually doing.

“I’m not a kid, you know. I can face my parents without you holding my hand,” Tony muttered, though there wasn’t any bite in his tone. He was also sure T’Challa heard it, and he would deny that he pouted.

_“Yes, that is a sound plan, Colonel. Though, you will also have the protection of the Dora Milaje and my own in your stay here, so I hope you don’t feel the need to worry too much. However, I do understand your concern for your friend, Colonel. I shall prepare both of your accommodation in haste.”_

“And will you also make sure we won’t bump into your _guests?_ ”

_“Of course, as if there was ever any doubt.”_

The call then disconnected, but Rhodey didn't stop glaring.

“I don’t like this, Tones,” he said at last. “I really don’t like this. I’ll feel better if the words don’t work on you anymore, but even with your invention we could barely scratch the surface of your conditioning. If your parents _lied_ to T’Challa about not _remembering_ —“

“Well, we won’t know until we get there, will we?” Tony answered as he walked away.

“Tony—“

“I’m going to inform the UN. You guys tell—everyone else. I’m gonna’ try not to think about _them_ until we’re landed in Wakanda.”

“Which _them?_ ”

Tony looked back as he stood by the opened door, noticing Rhodey’s sour expression and Vision’s worried one.

(There are still people by his side.)

“ _All_ of them.”

* * *

He stared at the window overlooking the forest, noticing the trees and bushes and _peace_ that seemed emanate from said scenery.

“How do you feel, Mr. Stark?”

Howard Stark sat on the bed he woke up in. His whole body felt like a giant bruise and his head was hurting like nobody’s business. From what he was told, he had no other extensive wound, which he considered lucky, since he remembered falling down from the sky.

“I feel fine. Muddy, but fine,” he answered the dark-skinned man. His head was really hurting, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle.

“How about you, Mrs. Stark?”

Howard glanced towards where his wife lay. She was awake and also mostly without injuries, though there were bruises on her arms and legs. There was also a sign of blooming bruise on the left side of her neck, near the point where it meets the shoulders. He hoped she wasn’t in too much pain.

“I’m also fine, Doctor. My head aches and my thoughts are a bit muddled, but otherwise I feel mostly all right.”

The Doctor nodded and jotted down something on the note he was holding.

Howard turned his attention to another dark-skinned young man that had been standing near the door since he first woke up. The man had introduced himself as T’Challa, and that he was the one that had found them, falling out of a portal.

A _portal._ A _fucking_ portal.

And no mention where, exactly, they’ve fallen to. Because he was sure there were no trees like the one he could see outside the window growing in the States.

“So, where exactly are we, again?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time waits for no one.
> 
> Past, present, future. Everything has their part, a grand design in the greater tapestry of fate. The law of causality, all action caused by entities. However, for every action taken, there are always consequences following, no matter the nature of said action.
> 
> Steve still couldn't let go of the past.

_Tony stood on his tip-toe, trying to look over the table that was just slightly taller than his head. His father was tinkering with something interesting, something that looked fun. Tony squinted his eyes to try and see closer, stretching as far as his little body goes before his legs slipped. However, his father’s large hand was suddenly there, supporting his back and head. Tony blinked when his father’s face was suddenly in his view._

_Tony grinned brightly and lifted both his hands as his father sighed._

_“Be more careful, Tony. Ask for Jarvis if you can’t reach something,” his father chided, before he held the small body to his chest in one hand, while another started to move bits and pieces around the table until a small spot near the edge was cleaned up. He then settled Tony on the clean spot, exactly where he could watch unhindered while not in the way._

_“Captain Amurika shi-ed?” Tony enquired, looking up at his father with eyes full of wonder of curiosity. Howards smiled as he continued his work._

_“Not exactly. This is just a replica, made of titanium and steel. The real one is made out of vibranium,” Howard answered, his tone was playful in the last sentence. Tony tilted his head at the new, interesting word._

_“Vai-ba-nee-um?”_

_Howard almost laughed at how his son butchered the word, while Jarvis, who had hurried over when he noticed the toddler’s almost-fall and wasn’t by his side anymore had simply coughed, hiding a smile behind a fisted hand._

_“Yes, Vibranium. The material that made Captain America’s shield, also one of the strongest material in the world.”_

_Tony looked back at the half-circle thing on the table, a quarter of it already painted in red, white, and blue. His eyes shone with excitement when he looked up at his father again._

_“Vai-ba-nee-um fo’ Tony?” he asked, his tone a childish selfishness, a question that fully expected his wants to be fulfilled. Howard raised an eyebrow before he looked upwards, pretending to think. In the corner of his eyes, he noticed Jarvis was looking too amused for his own good. The man really needs other entertainment than watching him be ridiculous with his son._

_“Hmm, I dunno’, Tony. Vibranium is pretty hard to get. Captain America’s shield had been the only vibranium known in the world.”_

_Tony’s excitement fallen, expression dejected with tears pooling under his eyes. “No, Tony?”_

_Howard grinned as he put down his tools and brought Tony into his arms instead._

_“Maybe not, but you’ll have something better than vibranium!” Howard exclaimed proudly as he held his small child to his chest._

_“I’m working on something, something just for you, to protect you from everything. Even in here,” he said, one finger touching Tony’s chest. Tony giggled when the finger touched the middle of his chest. “Tickles!” Tony laughed out. Howard smiled as he stopped and letting Tony to calm his giggles._

_“In ‘ere? Tony’s ‘eart?” Tony asked, eyes delightful and trusting, staring up with small hands still on his chest as Howard smiled wistfully._

_“That’s right. Tony’s heart. So no one can make you cry or sad anymore. So it won’t be hurt even when people betray you or lie to you, or hurting you. You’ll be safe—always.”_

_Tony smiled up at his father. “No meanies?”_

_Howard grinned down at his son. “No meanies, or bullies, or people hurting you like the kids at the playground or the kidnappers and betrayers like Mr. Driver. I’m not letting anyone hurt you or your heart, ever again.”_

_Tony grinned back. “Better tha’ vai-ba-nee-um?”_

_“Much better than vibranium.”_

* * *

“—you sure, Mr. Stark? I mean, I can probably accompany you to Wakanda if it’s only for a few days. Sure, I’m gonna need my mask at least, but I’m sure I can protect you better than Mr. Rhodes can—no offense to Mr. Rhodes— especially if you can’t bring armours into Wakanda’s facility. My whole body is my weapon, Mr. Stark.”

Tony glanced at the Spider-teen beside him.

“You’ve been waiting to say that last sentence or did that just came out of your mouth?”

Tony grinned when the teenager blushed and stammered.

“I appreciate the thought, Spiderling. But, I think you’ll do better here. The people of the city actually like you, despite what Daily Bugle say. And, while Rhodey doesn’t have super-strength, he was trained as a soldier before he was ever War Machine, so I’m sure I’m in good hands. Besides, it’s not like Leipzig. We’re not going to Wakanda expecting a fight.”

Tony continued his last-minute adjustment for his Iron Gauntlet-slash-Watch and finishing Rhodey’s similar one in silver colouring. Peter pouted, before he realized what he was doing and tried for a frowny face instead. It didn’t lessen his youth much.

“C’mon, kid. You’re still free to roam the lab even without me here. I trust you not to sell my inventions into international black market and to not blow it up before I return. And, Vision is here and will be in contact with us twenty-four-seven. Also, T’Challa is a friend. I’m sure he won’t let anything happen while we’re in his country. Give me that screwdriver, will you?”

Peter moved to grab said screwdriver. “I just don’t like it much, you know,” he said as he gave said screwdriver to Tony.

“Don’t worry too much, kiddo”

“I mean—“ Peter began pacing, “—I trust T’Challa, as much as I trust a distant uncle who visits once or twice in a month at least. But, I don’t like his _guests_. Well, I kinda liked them—in an idolizing kind of way, Captain America was kinda’ my hero before he stabbed your chest with his shield, and the metal arm guy was kinda’ cool before I knew he killed your parents—which is irrelevant to my point, sorry.”

Tony raised an eyebrow before he turned back to the gauntlets and began closing them up.

“I mean—I just don’t trust them to not hurt you, okay. Whatever hero-worship I had on them kinda died—or, at least I don’t feel them as much as before. I’m just—really worried. Some of their beef with you seemed kinda personal, from what I’ve seen in Leipzig. And I don’t know how much sway T’Challa has on them or if it’ll be enough for them to not attack you on sight.”

Tony patted the finished gauntlets-slash-watch in satisfaction before putting the red-and-gold coloured one on his left wrist.

“T’Challa won’t let anything happen on his watch. I’m sure he’ll protect me if his _guests_ plot for my demise once I arrive. He’s also enhanced, so are his security details. I’ll be fine, Peter.”

Peter still looked like he wanted to argue further and try to convince Tony to bring him, so Tony tried to assure the younger man.

_(There are still people by my side)_

 “Look, I really can’t bring you to Wakanda. You staying is the best decision all around. And, I can’t lie to your Aunt May again just to take you to Wakanda.”

“You were fine with that when you took me to Leipzig, though. And, it was much more dangerous than this,” Peter muttered. Tony smiled forlornly.

“Exactly because this is less dangerous that I shouldn’t bring you. I would go myself if Rhodey didn’t force his way.”

“I’m forcing my way right now.”

 “Yeah, but you’re easier to say no to than Rhodey. That man knows too much about my dark and desolate past.”

Peter looked like he was one action away from kicking his foot.

“Fine. But, updates. I want updates. Through Vision or call me yourself. And picture proof, whenever you’re able. Okay?”

Tony grinned.

“Okay, kiddo. You got yourself a deal.”

Just then, Rhodey appeared from behind the lab doors, hands carrying two duffel bags.

“You done yet, Tones? I got your things ready. The rest is already in the jet.”

“I’m done!” Tony exclaimed, hand shot out to grab Rhodey’s watch. “Everything’s taken care of, FRIDAY and Viz right in our ear, phones ready to connect to both, and Spiderman ready to stand by New York with the Defenders and Avengers.”

Peter was still pouting slightly as he followed them both to the hangars, where the jet was. Vision was already waiting in front of the jet, standing off the side. Tony pulled Peter into a hug, which eased Peter’s pouting when he hugged back. Rhodey gave him a pat on his back, which Peter received with a small grin. Vision looked slightly apprehensive as he watched, which made Tony to also pull him into a hug. Vision seemed surprised before he hugged back, arms loose around Tony. Rhodey simply gave him a pat on his shoulder and a grin, which was met with a tentative, awkward one from Vision.

“I’ll see you children later!” Tony exclaimed cheerfully before the jet door closed, waving exaggeratedly until he had to move.

_(There are still people by my side)_

Once they were on air, Tony remembered to give Rhodey his newly minted Iron Gauntlets, which was received with enthusiasm. He was still capable of a little interrogation, though.

“So, did you tell Peter your parents appeared out of nowhere? Or the UN?”

Tony sighed heavily.

“Not really. I told the UN that there was a portal, and a couple of people from the past went through. I didn’t specify who. As for Peter, he knew about the portal, and I knew the people that came out of it. I’m not sure how it would affect anyone to know Howard Stark returned from the dead.”

“Have you considered that they could also be aliens in disguise?” Rhodey asked, half joking and half serious, fiddling with his Iron Gauntlet ("I will name this one 'War Gauntlet'--oh, shut up, Tony"), activating and deactivating and trying to remember whatever functions Tony had added. Tony, however, simply looked at him unimpressed. Rhodey grinned.

“I know, I know. It sounded like the start of a really bad movie. But, really though. Doesn’t mean the possibility isn’t there. I fact, I think I prefer the alien possibility. Much less drama.”

Tony sighed as he leaned back further into the seat.

“Is it weird that we’re more worried about my parents than the fact a portal, possibly time tunnel in nature, had just opened somewhere on our earth? I mean, I think most people would be more worried about that. Imagine if something worse appeared somewhere! Like, I don’t know, Hitler or T-Rex or something.”

Rhodey shrugged beside him as he continued playing with his new gauntlet.

“You’ll find something out with the portal once you get the sufficient data. Your parents are more of a threat right now than the portal is. At least, to me, they are.”

Tony shuffled closer to Rhodey until his head could lean on Rhodey’s shoulder. Rhodey then shifted a bit so Tony could lay his head more comfortably, hands still checking out the gauntlets function, activating and deactivating until he could remember to do it in instinct.

“Normal people would actually be more concerned with the portal part, you know. And they would be happy to see their dead parents, even temporarily. T’Challa would. _Steve_ definitely would. I bet he already forced his way to talk to my old man, whatever T’Challa said.”

Rhodey stopped checking out the gauntlet and put an arm around Tony’s shoulder, reaching up to pet his friend’s hair.

“Maybe, but we don’t have normal lives, not really. You should rest a bit until we’re landed. I don’t think I’ve seen you sleep last night. You’re going to need all the energy you could get for whatever is ahead of us.”

“Mmm, I napped,” Tony mumbled, eyes halfway closed. Rhodey kept petting him slowly, unhurried. Comfortingly.

_(I still have people by my side)_

“Sleep anyway,” Rhodey said. Tony shuffled closer, nose nearly touching the other’s neck.

(Rhodey always smelled like his tour, of sweat and the world outside the city despite always in his armor, but nowadays he smelled more like the soap he used and metal and gunpowder and _Tony’s workshop—_ he spent more time there than he had ever been in the past for his legs, for Tony's company, for _things—_ it was both comforting and saddening at the same time.)

“Okay,” Tony answered, and slept. 

He hoped he wouldn't dream.

* * *

 

_“Howard and Maria Stark are presently here in Wakanda. They came from the portal that just appeared and—Captain?”_

_Moving. Everything was moving. Again._

_“Steve!?”_

_A blur. Running. A chance._

_(Redemption)_

_(Return)_

_(Forgiveness)_

_“Steve! Stop!”_

_Everything will be alright again._

* * *

Seeing Howard again almost felt like a dream. There was a little part of him that expected Peggy to appear in any moment now—perhaps even Dr. Erskine too. Even though the man has aged, Steve could only see the man that had flown a plane to help him save Bucky, Peggy by his side. Nostalgia warmed his voice, relaxed his demeanor, even with T’Challa warning echoing in his head.

_“Take caution of your words, Captain. Time is a fickle thing, especially if they did come from the past, stranded to our present. We still have no idea what their presence mean here and to the space-time continuum itself. If they know too much, then it could mean consequences that none of us might ever expect. Even knowing you are alive could change things.”_

But, the man in the room was familiar, a figure from his past. The woman by his side was familiar from pictures, but unfamiliar in the way that mattered to him. However, the thought that _‘this is the woman Howard had chosen’_ already made her a friend for him.

_“But_ _—_ _I’m familiar to him, your Highness., the way none of you are. They would be in shock, knowing how much to the future they ended up. I know I did, and if someone that was more familiar to me had broken the news, I might have accepted it a little bit easier. I think it’s better if I talk to them.”_

_The King didn’t seem convinced, but Sam had pointed out Steve was the only one among them that had been stranded into the future, in a way. T’Challa didn’t look entirely convinced, but he acquiesced._

_“I hope you understand what you’re doing, Captain.”_

“Howard,” he called out. Sam was a silent support by his side, while Clint stood curiously behind him. Though he wished for Bucky to be present, to complete the picture, it was enough to see Howard turned to him, a familiar grin on his face once the man noticed him.

“Captain Rogers! How I am glad to hear from the King that you’ve been found,” the words were accompanied by a clap on the back, the familiarity of camaraderie in their once upon a time. The woman by his side stood with a smile, as if she also reveled in her husband’s excitement of seeing an old friend.

_(Oh, so that’s where Tony got his smile from--)_

Just like that, whatever contentment he had felt washed away like an icy cold shower over his head. Howard was looking at him like a _friend_ , and the woman was smiling warmly at _him_ —

_(“That shield doesn't belong to you. You don't deserve it. My father made that shield.")_

_(“I don't care, he killed my mom.”)_

_(“I hope you understand what you’re doing, Captain.”)_

_Oh._

He didn’t know how he kept the smile that started to feel unnatural on his lips as he tried to return Howard’s sentiment. He tried to keep a cheerful face, keeping the warmth in his voice and kept the tremble that threatened to come out from his throat.

Howard was smug as he introduced Maria as the woman of his life, after Steve had introduced both Sam and Clint, even Scott and Wanda when they had entered the room hesitantly. Wanda didn’t look like she wanted to be there, but she didn’t want to be left out either. T’Challa was standing behind the Starks, observing and calculating whether they were threats or not. Either the Starks, or the Captain and his group.

After the introductions, they all sat down and talked. Howard had plenty of questions about where he is, _when_ he is. T’Challa answered their questions to the best of his ability and asked questions back, about the last thing they remembered and the time period they came from.

“I don’t remember a thing,” Howard answered, face scrunched in confusion and there was a hint of irritation in his eyes. “I remember who I am, my formulas and calculations and everything else of me. I remember Rogers, so I’m pretty sure I exist in the war. But, I can’t remember the last thing we were doing. It’s all a blur. This is concerning… What about you, Maria?”

Maria frowned before she began thinking and finally shook he head.

“I’m afraid I also can’t remember. Everything was just a blur— _Ah_ , what about Tony? He can help us!”

Everyone in the room tensed. This didn’t go unnoticed by the Starks.

“Oh, do any of you know Tony? He’s our son. I think he should be an adult now? I—can’t seem to remember how old he should be now though.” Maria frowned again, sounding disappointed. Howard patted her back consolingly.

“I can’t remember either. But, he’s a Stark. I’m sure one of the people here knows his name at least, right?” Howard asked, staring right at Steve. Steve tried another smile that felt more fake by the second.

“Right, yes. I mean, yes, we do know your son. We’ve been colleagues until a few months ago,” Steve answered, unwilling to lie outright, but uncomfortable in telling the whole truth.

_(If you were having a hard time telling the truth, maybe you shouldn’t have done it in the first place, son)_

“Oh, that’s great! Can you contact him? We may not remember how many years it has been, but I know I miss _il mio tesoro_. Has he been doing well?”

Maria looked at each of them in hopeful expectation, the shape of her eyes reminded them painfully of Tony’s, even the shade.

“Ah, he’s… fine, I think. We lost contact with each other in the last few months,” Steve tried to say. The phone in his pocket burned. He didn’t know how he looked as he tried to keep the smile on his face, but from how Sam looked at him and Clint glanced blankly at him, he wasn’t sure it was as convincing as he wanted.

“I see,” Maria had said, disappointed, before she perked up again. “But, can you contact him anyway?”

Steve didn’t want to answer, the phone gripped tight in his pocket. T’Challa picked that moment to give his input.

“They had a fallout,” the young king said, as if what happened was simply an argument instead a full on fight, one side hurting the other man with everything they had. “But, I can contact him for you.”

_(It wasn’t his intention; it was never his intention)_

Maria frowned, her delicate lips turning down, her neat eyebrows furrowed.

“I see,” she said. Howard simply lifted an eyebrow, curious but didn’t seem overly concerned.

T’Challa left the room, possibly to contact Tony, leaving a couple of Dora Milaje in the room with them.

“Is it okay for T’Challa to contact Stark?” Wanda whispered worriedly. “If his parents are here, he’s going to come here, won’t he?”

“I’m sure T’Challa will think of something,” Steve answered. “He promised us sanctuary. I don’t think he’s a king that will go back on his word.”

Wanda still looked nervous, but she had relaxed after Steve’s assurance. Scott had kept to himself while the others were talking, having nothing to input and knowing nothing about the Starks besides what Hank had told him. Even he knew not to say anything before he had cause to insult either Starks.

“So, Steve,” Howard suddenly said when the room became silent behind the King. “Tell me, how have you been?”

Steve began talking, the conversation started to flow easily after that. Comfortable like putting on a favourite glove, everything flowed out in that conversation between old friends. Familiar conversation the way his and the rest hadn’t been. Jokes that was popular ‘back in their time’ that people didn’t understand in the present.

(The rest of the world blurred. He was back in the past, catching up with old friends in a bar—a dinner—at _home_ )

It was easy, so easy, and Steve was relaxing, much more relaxed than he could ever remember since arriving in the future.

If Bucky was here, ( _if Peggy was here)_ it would be perfect.

He was so caught up in the comfort, of the feeling _as if he never left_ , he didn’t realize his teammates looking at him, as if they never looked at him before.

Steve smiled wider as Howard laughed and Maria giggled at the joke that only the three of them understand. He could almost forget he _wasn’t_ in the past.

Steve couldn’t bring himself to care about it just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... am I still hurting you? If there was no brainwashing, this could probably be fluff. Utter, uber, everyone-love-Tony fluff. And, my favoritism for Peter is probably showing here.
> 
> If there was ever going to be a real pairing in this story (since I'm kinda second-guessing romantic pairing here) the top contender right now is probably WarIron so far (IronMachine? What is their pairing name anyway?) while WinterIron still stayed as a personal favorite for future ideas, with IronPanther (maybe, probably, who knows? I like their friendship) and ShieldIron/Stony (which will make this story really angsty up 'till the end and probably one sided on both sides with pinings and probably without them ever getting together, yes pain.)
> 
> I think I'm gonna stick with friendship until I can figure out how to romance.
> 
> *shrug*


	3. Chapter 3

_“Mommy, it hurts… My chest hurts, Mommy…..”_

_Maria held her crying son tighter into her embrace, whispering comforting words in both Italian and English, hoping to soothe her distraught son. Her heart breaks every time and this had happened far too often for anyone’s liking._

_Her son trusts too easily, too much, and though Maria and Howard tried to vet those that enter their home, they couldn’t do much when Tony decided he wished to venture outside. ‘Stranger Danger’, despite how much they tried to drill that into Tony, there are too many cowards and hypocrites and liars surrounding the Starks that they weren’t strangers when they decided to hurt the child, to want him for their own gain._

_(The genius heir of the Stark’s fortune, whose first invention had almost rivalled Howard’s own in the tender age of four. Spies and terrorists alike wanted the little bundle potential as their own—his genius, or simply because he was the son of Howard Stark. Even being a child—her_ baby, _did not protect him. How many times the child must be betrayed and hurt, when he could still barely understand the concept?)_

_(When he is grown, will they rip out his heart bleed him in their hands to make him dance?)_

_Tony has always been bright, brighter than any child his age should ever be. He understood things sooner than any child could ever understand, years and years sooner. He felt things in much wider range than children his age should, complicated beyond the years he had lived. And, he felt hurt more often than anyone his age should._

_But, while children his age could be consoled by soft words and ice creams and toys, once their hurt and pain soothed away, Tony’s bright mind made it harder for him to forget, while his big heart made him love too much, trust too easily._

_Sometimes, it scared her, how hard it was for her son to move on from the hurt. His range of emotions have already developed closer to those of an adult, his mind brighter than most of the adult decades his age, while his maturity was still closer to the four-years-old he physically is. His heart felt too much empathy, too many range of feeling, and pain was the feeling he was constantly in whenever he was outside the safety of their home. Sometimes, even in their home people could still hurt him._

_The constant curse of being the son of Howard Stark._

_(And still, he couldn’t let them go)_

_“Liars and deceivers surround us, my love,” Maria whispered to the unruly hair of her_ bambino _, still crying and agonizing the hurt he didn’t understand the name of yet, but felt all the same._

_“It’s not our fault, but the jealousy and greed of those people. Some may have noble reasons, but taking them the wrong way, just because of the power you hold within your small hands. Good or bad intention, they all want you, your brilliance, our shining star, if only because you are our beloved son.”_

_Tony’s crying didn’t slow. Maria didn’t know if her son was hearing her, if he_ could _hear her. Maria could still see the red on her son’s skin._

_She gripped her little treasure tighter in her arms._

_“We will protect you,_ il mio bambino _. Whatever it takes, so no one can ever hurt you. So you’ll never be hurt again. So no one would ever betray you or lie to you. We will keep your heart safe, I swear it, love. We will do anything for you.”_

_And, Howard will be with her, every step of the way. Together, they can archive anything. Do anything._

_Especially when it’s for their dearly beloved son._

 

 

* * *

Clint couldn’t help but to feel unmoored the longer he stayed in the same room with the Starks. Nothing escaped his sight, so he didn’t miss how Steve’s sight was focused on Howard and his wife, how he had laughed the laugh he never heard before from their Captain. The easy conversation filled with jokes and memories that were ridiculous present time. There was no fluster or frustration at references he didn’t get. There were no adding things into the little notebook the Captain had taken everywhere. Instead, Clint was the one who _didn’t get their references_ , too old, too far back in their time, things that old people would probably talk about after the words _‘back in my day’,_ things that they could only understand because they _lived it_.

Clint knew the Captain was frozen, lived his live in the 40s. Clint _knew_ this.

Clint and everyone else _knew_ this.

But, it was as if it was only now he truly understand what it meant.

The Captain wasn’t an old soul, like how he often seemed like. He wasn’t the old, wise man from the mountain that as gifted with the body of eternal Adonis, like they used to jokingly thought him as. He wasn’t the unflinching hero from his comics and whose tales was told in radios and movies. He was a young man that got frozen and suddenly thrown into the past. He didn’t age, or remember much of his time in the ice. For all that he was the oldest among them, he actually wasn’t, in terms of living.

Hell, Clint was actually older than him. So was _Natasha_. _So was Tony_.

_‘I’ve been living longer in this century that Cap could ever be.’_

And then, he thought of the politics, of the Accords. Of everything else, while Steve smiled with a light in his eyes with two other people that _had lived_ Steve’s past. And, just like he would never understand that past unless he _lived it,_ then the same could be said for Steve.

Clint remembered the long list Steve had, how one could be crossed out in every two or three months, when SHIELD still stood. He remembered how Steve never questioned his mission, the trust he had with SHIELD. The perfect soldier. The perfect _leader_.

He remembered how SHIELD had sheltered him, giving him a purpose in a form of missions, and friends in the Avengers and teams. They updated him through the important turning points of the nation, of the wars and fights after his was fought. Things that even Clint knew was important to know, but nothing he ever had to open history books for. They were things that people just _knew_.

Clint had an inkling he probably understood much more than Steve about the government, about politics, and he knew how little that was.

There was something brewing in his stomach, in his chest, when that revelation came. Clint would like to name it ‘hate’, but then that would make everything he said to Tony as nothing but ‘petty’, instead of the betrayal it was supposed to be.

 _‘How did I ever follow you here?’_ he thought as the feeling grew.

“You okay, man? You look pale,” Sam asked with a hand on his shoulder. He ignored the hand and instead pointed towards the _Captain_ with his chin. The man in question looked so ecstatic, so in his element, comfortable and _almost happy_ , and Clint thought he had seen Steve in his element before.

“Have you ever seen him like that before? I know I haven’t.”

Sam pursed his lips, the corners were trying to lift for a smile, but it was too tense. Too flat.

And Clint remembered that Sam probably had spent more time with Steve that he did.

(Wasn’t that a kicker? Clint met the man _earlier_ , yet the man that wasn’t fighting with them in their first forming have spent _more_ time with Steve than he did. And he had once lived in SHIELD barracks, came with Steve’s team as backup for missions. Saw the man once or twice a week in the communal lunch)

“No, I haven’t,” Sam said, lips still pursed, as if he was biting his words.

There was something in his voice, his intonation, that made Clint ask, “Did you realize this? Before the Accords?”

Sam wasn’t watching Steve anymore. Instead, he looked at the ground, eyebrows furrowed and lips thinned. Clint hoped the man wouldn’t dare to pretend he didn’t understand what Clint was asking.

“I had an inkling. But, while he talked to me, he didn’t _talk_ to me. He didn’t talk to anyone. What he did was conversations and questions. He joked. He laughed. But, he wasn’t _open_. I don’t even think he realized he was closing himself off. I recognized his frustrations, his attempts at socializing, but I could see he did most of them because he _had_ to. I understood then he was so _young_. I realized he might be unstable, but I thought all he needed was making connections. Making friends. I thought you guys, the Avengers, helped. I thought that maybe, meeting you all helped him a little. Enough that he even bothered to try with me. That party at the Tower, the way he talked about it, was the most alive I had ever heard him after SHIELD fell. Having friends helped him.”

“And then, you met Tony,” Clint deadpanned. Sam had a self-deprecating smile on his face.

“And then, I met Tony Stark, and beside him Captain America seemed like the most down-to-earth guy you’ll ever met. Suddenly, Tony seemed like the unstable one. The one I shouldn’t trust. The one I treated like how I was supposed to treat Steve that first time I realized—with caution.”

Clint watched the Stark Parents talking, sharing experience that they could all remember and understood, while Steve listened like he never listened before. Like he listened to _Peggy_ in the first few times Clint was ordered to follow the man, the first time Steve knew of her location.

He noticed Scott sitting on the far corner, looking uncomfortable and out of place, yet resigned while his body screamed _I don’t want to be here, I don’t belong here, I want to go h—_.

Even Wanda wasn’t faring much better, hands clasped together tight in front of her in attempt to look calm, but the whiteness of her hands told him that she was anything but _calm_.

“Oh my, we’ve been so very rude,” a woman’s voice said apologetically, much louder than any conversation that had been in the room. Maria looked towards where Clint and the others had grouped up, a smile and apology in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to exclude you. My husband just had so many things to tell—and we haven’t even gotten to Tony’s childhood yet!”

Steve had looked surprised when Maria addressed them, as if he had _forgotten_ they were still in the same _fucking_ room.

_(When Bucky Barnes got involved, didn’t the same thing happen too?)_

But, when Maria brought up Tony, Clint had felt a dark satisfaction when Steve slightly paled.

“I-I don’t think—“ Steve stuttered, and suddenly, all Clint wanted to do was _talk_.

“Yeah, you see, I think Tony will hate you if you do that,” Clint said, and the feeling in him felt almost— _almost—_ like when he had spat at Tony when he was behind bars.

(What was fairness, anyway?)

Maria and Howard both looked at him curiously, but there was _something_ that he felt he should notice, something he was seeing that was off. However, the feeling of (anger? Hate?) _something_ didn’t let him do more but to keep talking and ignore what he saw.

He wondered if he should stop talking.

“Why, Mr. Barton? Weren’t you friends? If I remember Tony right, and I know even if my memories are muddled, I’ll always remember Tony right. So, I know he takes friendship very seriously. I doubt one fallout broke your friendship entirely.” Maria inquired, forever the politest woman in the room. Steve was staring at him, eyes widened and horrified, scared the way Clint hadn’t seen him with Barnes by his side.

( _‘What the hell am I doing here?’_ )

 If he stopped, there was nothing in her eyes that said she would force him to continue and explain.

(‘ _I’m here because Steve called. I’m here for Wanda._ ’)

( _‘I’m here for adults that kept expecting children consequences for their_ mistakes’)

He kept talking.

_(“You’re such a child, Barton.”)_

“Because, it wasn’t just a fallout. War would be a bit more fitting, considering damage we caused. The reporters and media even dubbed the fight as ‘Civil War’. Epic, isn’t it?”

Maria frowned. So did Howard.

(There was something, _something_ , he should be noticing. Something—)

“Steve, what is he talking about?” Howard questioned, facing Steve right in his eyes. Curiosity, worry—

_(Something—)_

“I…” Steve started, hesitant. Tense. Uncomfortable. He glanced towards Clint, before weary resignation settled around his shoulder.

“I—“

And Steve told them. His voice only shook slightly in some parts, but he delivered his recount in almost detached manner. He told them all about the Accords. About Bucky. About Peggy’s funeral. About Zemo and his Super Soldier Project, also their fight in Leipzig. The things that Clint already knew.

( _But, you don’t really understand, did you? The Accords wasn’t about you, after all. Just another thing thrown there for your cooperation, your help. And you notice Steve left out Lagos, their mission that pushed the government into applying the Accords_ )

Then, Steve also told them what he didn’t know. That Tony offered him a deal. That Tony tried to talk to him, settle things peacefully before he called Clint to rescue Wanda (and now Clint tried to think—what was it exactly he was supposed to save Wanda from? Tony wasn’t even there. Wanda wasn’t chained, or thrown into a power-dampener room. She wasn’t even in a Hulk-proofed room. She was cooking with Vision, she wasn’t fighting. So, what was it he tried to protect her from, when her jailer wasn’t even _there?_ ). That Tony _did_ follow him to Siberia. That he _was_ trying to help him.

That there was a video there, of the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark, by the Winter Soldier’s hands. That Tony watched it, that Steve had suspected years before (“When SHILED fell—“) yet never told Tony. He told them how angry Tony had been, at Steve, at _Bucky_ , and how they fought.

Clint was angry for the things Steve didn’t explain, for the things Steve didn’t make clear. He was angry at himself for not _thinking_ , for once in his damn life. For not talking with Laura when he left.

(If he did, Laura would’ve thought the things he didn’t think about, would’ve brought up the points he only realized now, would’ve made him _think_ , and maybe—)

“Where is your shield, Captain?” Howard’s tone was flat, lacking the joviality of their earlier conversation. He wasn’t looking at Steve, and Steve wasn’t looking at him.

( _That Something grew,_ grew—)

“With him. I left it with him after I destroyed his power source.”

(Clint could imagine the shield bashing the chest of the Iron Man armour, aimed at the blue-light of arc-reactor. Once upon a time, destroying it would mean death. A painful and agonizing death)

_(Howard or Maria wouldn’t know what it meant, to destroy the blue light Captain called ‘power source’)_

Howards still wasn’t looking at Steve. Instead, he glanced at his wife, whose expression was almost _familiar—_

_(The line of her eyebrows, the stiff muscle around her lips—They were like Tony’s, when he tried to hide his emotions)_

“Perhaps, we should continue our conversation tomorrow, Captain,” she said, polite still even after being told how the people they were with were no friend of their son. “I feel a little light-headed. It seems we are not as fine as we thought we were.”

Steve nodded once, understanding the dismissal. He stood up, back straight and eyes upfront, but he still glanced towards Howard, who finally looked back at him, but offering no more than an unreadable look. Steve pursed his lips, before looking at Clint who stared him back, challenging.

“Let’s go, guys. We should let them rest. I’ll inform King T’Challa.”

Clint didn’t want the order. He was planning to leave after Steve anyway. But, Sam already followed Steve out, so Clint followed Sam, and the rest stood behind him.

Turns out, the King didn’t need to be informed. He was already leaning on the wall outside the door, expression disapproving.

“I’ve informed Stark. He should be on his way now. I hope this time I do not need to argue with you on why all of you should stay in your quarters?”

Steve gave a stiff nod, but Clint could see something like longing, like hurt, that Steve was trying to hide.

“We won’t leave our room.”

With that final word, Steve went towards the area where they were given access of. Back to their Sanctuary. Their Asylum.

(Clint didn’t feel better about it than when he was in the Raft)

* * *

Tony was still asleep when his phone vibrated. Rhodey, in the middle of dozing off, felt the vibration and checked it for him, not wanting to disturb Tony’s sleep.

He will need it.

Rhodey checked screen, a little surprised the continuous vibration was of T’Challa calling.  Wondering if another portal was opening while they’re still on the way, he accepted the call.

“Hi. Sorry, Tony’s sleeping. What’s wrong, Your Highness?” Rhodey whispered, his free and slightly numb hand tried to smooth Tony’s hair clumsily.

_“Oh, hello, Colonel. Nothing is wrong, at least so far nothing much. Like you’ve thought, the Captain had been adamant in seeing the Stark elder, no matter what I’ve said. Also, he had disclosed the nature of your… ‘falling out’ up from the Accords and Siberia, even the present condition of one Sergeant Barnes. The Captain also disclosed the matter of their death, which concerned me if they did arrive from the past. They seem to be in a little bit of shock right now, and eager to see their son as soon as possible.”_

Rhodey pursed his lips, not knowing how to respond.

If before he thought there was a 50-50 chance that Tony’s parents would say the trigger words, Rhodey was almost 89% sure they will now. Even though they wouldn’t quite understand the whole picture, knowing what he knew, the Captain’s act alone would be enough reason for them.

Them knowing their death also concerned Rhodey, especially when he knew Barnes was given sanctuary in Wakanda. However, from his understanding of the Starks, he doubted that part was what shocked them. No, it would be the Captain’s act against their son. His attack, of him daring to harm their son using the tools Howard himself had given him. Rhodey imagined they would be angry, the silent, simmering anger that no one would see until it exploded in their faces.

And Tony would be their bomb.

(It was their anger that created Tony’s _golden cage_ , their love for him, their grief—)

Rhodey wanted to turn the plane back, keep Tony away from those who would harm him. He wanted to let Tony’s parents be Wakanda’s problems. He wanted to keep Tony among friends, where everyone would protect him and care from him, love him the way he hadn’t been, appreciated him the way should’ve been.

Care for him the way he cared for them.

Rhodey wanted to hang up on the King and take over the pilot control, just turn the plane around back to America. Away from the explosion that could be.

“Wait, why would Captain America tell them about their death? Wasn’t he warned about the space-time continuum and everything?” the voice by his side said, and suddenly Rhodey noticed Tony was no longer sleeping and half his ear was plastered to the phone he was still holding, expression far too awake and alert (and Rhodey wondered when the hell did he woke up?). Despite not speaking directly to the receiver, T’Challa clearly could hear him.

_“Ah, he was. I’m not quite sure how their conversation took a drastic turn. When I left them, they were talking quite amicably. In fact, the Captain and your parents were talking like old friends, and I have never heard the Captain laugh more joyfully. I do not quite understand how their conversation suddenly turn to their death. The Captain even properly explained that it was the Winter Soldier, though he begged them not to blame Barnes.”_

Tony took the phone from Rhodey’s hand, expression contorted in clear irritation. While Tony talked, Rhodey went to make sure of their ETA to Wakanda, how long before they finally land.

“That’s—did he even realize how dangerous it was? If they did come from the past, their knowledge here could change our present once they get back! There is such thing as ‘too much information’! God, he managed to keep their murder from me for years, but he can’t manage to keep his mouth shut around my dad for a day? I get he was happy seeing his old friend, but how the hell him telling them about their demise in his best friend’s metal hand would be a good reunion conversation? What the fuck is wrong with him!”

Rhodey couldn’t hear T’Challa’s response, but he knew the King did say something. Rhodey busied himself with making sure new Iron Watch was firmly attached on his wrist and made sure Vision would be ready to come in case something happened through the comm in the watch, a possibility that seemed even more likely now. He took the time to update Vision and inform him of possible future situations. The android in return promised he could arrive in Wakanda in an hour in his top speed.

He heard Tony let out an irritated sigh while talking to Vision.

“Yeah, I—Okay, sure. It’s your country. Just—do you think they can keep their distance now? Especially Rogers. And, try not to let my dad see Barnes. Maybe even try to wake Barnes up a bit, update him on this. I know my dad is just sneaky enough to try and poke around, and he can be dangerous if he poked around something he shouldn’t. If Barnes can do the evading himself, that will really help. Maybe, he can even try and keep Rogers’ big mouth shut.”

Rhodey thought that was a bad idea. While none of them really knew why Barnes decided to ice himself, since T’Challa took his sanctuary quite seriously, he thought maybe it had to do with his programming. However, Howard was a remarkable scientist in his time, not to mention he had been running around with Peggy Carter herself, along with the rest of Howling Commando behind her. If he decided to poke around an iced Winter Soldier, that could end badly for either or both of them.

“Yes, yes. I know. It’s just a thought. I have no doubt your security is great. But, don’t tell me you don’t see the potential disaster, not after what Rogers told him. Yes, I—Okay, good. Alright. We should land in one and a half hour, which I’m sure you already know. I don’t believe that you don’t have this jet monitored. Right, okay. See you, Kittycat.”

Tony sighed and leaned back to his seat, shoulders still tight with tension. When his eyes met with Rhodey, no words were needed. Rhodey leaned back so their shoulders touched. For a while, they sat in silence. Neither of them were saying anything, or do anything but sit and lean on each other.

“I made earplugs,” Tony said suddenly, his hand reaching to his pocket. “I’m not sure it’ll work, though. Theoretically, it should. But, even I don’t understand the mechanism of my own programming. Not even BARF could start to unearth it, even though it made me deal with my other traumas.”

Rhodey wasn’t entirely sure why earplugs suddenly connected to his programming. Tony could definitely see that when he looked at his best friend’s confused face and frowned.

“Earplugs. I made earplugs that maybe can help me not hearing the words. Maybe I just need to not hearing it to not get triggered.”

The earplugs in Tony’s hand was small and inconspicuous, even though it was coloured in dark red with gold accents on some part of the metal. Rhodey watched Tony putting them on as they waited the jet to properly land.

“Earplugs; if that works _I’m_ gonna feel a little stupid. That’s practically like holding your hands around your ears while singing just so you wouldn’t hear things you don’t want to. Almost juvenile, even.”

“Juvenile—that’s so me,” Tony smirked at Rhodey’s amused tone. While he wasn’t entirely sure about the effectiveness of his earplugs, they still should be able to filter out unwanted words. They were untested and neither of them have full knowledge on how the triggers work, but as a precaution they should be enough.

Rhodey hoped to God it will be enough.

* * *

_“They hurt him..”_

_“We weren’t wrong. See? The people surrounding him don’t change. Look, even Captain America harmed him! Your prided Captain America! You see, no one can ever be good_ forever _!”_

_“….Intention don't always matter, not when our son was the one harmed.”_

_“You made something even better that vibranium shield._ We _made something that protected him much better than a vibranium shield can. Our love. If Tony—If only he just let us_ say them _before we left_ — _“_

_“…We weren’t wrong. Jarvis was wrong. There was only us. We’re the only ones that wanted to protect him. Always and forever.”_

_“…If Jarvis hadn’t taken him—If he had_ seen _things the way we saw it, Tony would never gotten hurt. He would be save, and what we’ve done—he would’ve gone through the rest of his life_ not hurting _.”_

_“It doesn’t matter what he thinks anymore, does it? By now, he should see. He should understand. The world is never a kind place for a Stark. Especially for him"_

_“No, it never is.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holiday everyone! Is an update enough for a Christmas gift? lol
> 
> So, just a little bit heads up, Maria and Howard will hint some more of their darker side. Well, I guess there are hints in here, and their darker side are already apparent in their programming of their son. But, hey. The Avengers don't know that. There are probably more disturbing narrative (as if the them programming child Tony wasn't disturbing enough) in future chapters.
> 
> P.S. Should I tag this as Steve Bashing? Because, while I am more inclined to Tony's side in here (forget inclined, I'm practically making everyone love him in here), I really don't mean to bash him. In fact, I tried to get into his headspace in this. I honestly don't think he's a bad guy. A bad friend, maybe. An asshole, definitely. A bad guy? Not really. I'm not even trying to paint him as a bad guy in this. So, yeah... Should I?


	4. Chapter 4

_Jarvis remembered the child Tony used to be, whose smile could light up a room, whose laughter filled the once silent mansion. Howard might often be silent in his affection, but his love for the exuberant and playful child was clear in Jarvis’ eyes, who had known the man through past and present. The man was protective of his own, his child the most of all. He also knew of Maria, whose love for her only child was clear to those who could hear her. Her every breath were praises and love and affection for her child, so much was her pride and joy for her son._

_Jarvis had seen Howard fret, when Tony was not in his sight, left with the women of the house for whatever trip they’d like to do some days, shopping being most often, while the men stayed waiting. In the privacy of their house, Howard fussed. He paced around and half of his work was lagging behind. He worried and bustled and nagged around the house. If it wasn’t for Maria contacting him every hour, Jarvis was sure he would be employed to drive the man to his wife and son’s location soon, wherever he might be. Howard may have acted cool and distant at times, especially since the child’s third kidnapping in the last few months, but Jarvis had seen how Howard loved his son. Maria’s love was open for the public to see, while Howard’s was limited to behind closed doors._

_(As a friend, he knew Howard’s past wasn’t easy, the man himself a bit twisted at times. But—he was, at his core, a good man)_

_As a successful man, he wasn’t without his own betrayals, his own wounds. He weathered them with a thick skin and bone-deep arrogance (and Maria, when she appeared in his life). But, when Tony was hurt. When another assassination—another lie, and another betrayal hurt his son, Jarvis saw the darkness in his eyes. The man that had seen war, had been involved in a war, combined with the protective instinct of a father, created a sight that was as fearsome as a dragon itself. In those times, Howard would be in his lab, away from his son and his wife. His anger for those that hurt his son was contained in his lab, into the inventions he would create. But, Jarvis never worried for him, or for his son in those times._

_(Maybe, he should have)_

_“I can’t control what the world does to my family,_ _” the man once said, “But, I can make sure to protect my son from it.”_

_His eyes had burned in determination, as he watched his son crying in his mother’s arms, red around his little wrist, welts on the delicate skin._

_(Anger, pain, sadness, of how humanity had failed—then again, humanity had never been kind before, not to a Stark)_

_Jarvis had agreed, because he too was burned with anger for the child’s hurts. He was warmed by the love Howard showed for his son, the protective instinct he never would’ve thought Howard would have. Though, sometimes he was saddened because the child couldn’t always see it, busy as his friend had often been._

_(Blinded by his own pain, he never did see the possibilities of—)_

_He never thought either of them would be capable of doing such monstrosity._

_Sometimes, Jarvis thought he should’ve seen the signs._

_(Sometimes, he wondered if he had)_

* * *

“—I understand. Of course, Mr. Rhodes. I estimate that in my full speed, I can manage to arrive in one hour once you need me, barring UN or other worldly emergency.”

Once Vision hung up, Peter quickly pestered the android, hand still full of what snack he had come to get before Vision came through the wall.

“Was that Mr. Rhodey? How are they? Are they still safe? Was there trouble? Is Mr. Stark alright? Are they fine? Have they—“

Vision lifted a hand to cut Peter’s tirade silently, expression only slightly frowning. Peter backed off a little, but he was still shifting around his feet, barely managing from getting into Vision’s space again.

“They are fine. Mr. Rhodes have informed me that they’ll land in approximately ninety-three minutes, but since they might need to get working once they land, they might not have time to inform us. There was no trouble yet, but Mr. Rhodes wanted to make sure of how much time I will need to arrive in Wakanda if my presence is ever needed. I assure you, you have nothing to worry about yet, little Spider.”

Peter smiled at the reassurance, but then frowned at the ‘little spider’ comment. He was not little, damn it! Just because he _might_ be one of their youngest recruits (and maybe also one of the shorter ones—one of these days, he will hit his growth spurt, and finally get past Vision and Rhodey, damn it!) doesn’t mean they had to be treat him like a kid!

(He would comment on the ‘little spider’ thing, but even before the word left his mouth, he realized it _will_ make him sound like a kid _he wasn’t_ )

(His armful of snacks he just raided probably wouldn’t help either)

“So, they’re fine, then?” Peter finally asked. There was still worry in the back of his mind, but while he wasn’t entirely certain he trusted Tony’s old team to _not_ hurt him, he was still 96% sure T’Challa and his loyal guards won’t let anything violent (that’s not part of their tribe-tradition thing, at least) happen on their soil.

“So far, yes. And, so it will seem in near future, unless there is an emergency and a danger confirmation about the portal.”

Peter was nodding, satisfied, though he was slightly uneasy about the portal-thing. Portals seemed to be a prelude to a more dangerous situation worldwide that needed a sacrifice or two to stop. And, that sacrifice was often Tony. Just because usually, he was the only one on the field that seemed to know how to stop it first. Case in point; New York.

Peter was about to leave, he really was. He was just there getting snacks since he planned to spend the rest of his afternoon in Tony’s lab. But, as he watched Vision pulling out pans and cutting boards without opening any of the cupboards, a stray thought hit him.

“Hey, did they tell you if the portal was interdimensional or magical? Or a combination of both?”

Vision looked at him curiously, but then he turned and pulled ingredients out of the refrigerator without opening the refrigerator door.

“No, not yet. No one knew the nature of said portal just yet, not until Tony can see whatever readings they got. And maybe find something out from whatever—or whoever, came out of it.”

“So, the portal can still be anything. Time, dimensional, a portal to Asgard or wherever, or maybe even to another universe entirely?”

Vision hummed in confirmation as he chopped up carrots and potatoes meticulously, each piece was in close to perfect size in width.

“But, why Tony, then?” Peter frowned as he asked, arms still full of snacks, but his expression was growing into one of suspicion instead of mere curiosity. Vision didn’t stop chopping as he let out an inquiring sound.

“Just, why not Miss Jane Foster? She’s the expert on dimensional rifts—and portal, also Professor Selvig. And, Dr. Strange is also an expert on portals, either magical or dimensional—or time. Why did T’Challa only contacted Tony, but not the actual, leading experts and Avengers? Or, at least, why _just_ Tony?”

Vision stopped his chopping momentarily and looked at the young Spiderman. Half his face was still covered by his mask, but the lips had downturned into a suspicious-slash-curious frown.

“I am sure after Tony analyzed what readings Wakanda had, he will be the one to contact one of those people you mentioned. The king was simply cautious, and he trusts Mr. Stark. While not an expert like Professor Selvig, Mr. Stark is still a genius and knows more about the physics than most. There is also the matter of people that appeared from the portal. Since they were from his past, the King seemed to think Mr. Stark was a more perfect candidate to help.”

Peter’s lips pinched and he held his snack tighter in his arms.

“There’s something no one is telling me, isn’t there?”

Vision returned to his chopping.

“There is,” he answered.

“And you won’t tell me.”

“Until it becomes life-threatening, no.”

“But, it _can_ become life-threatening? To whom?”

“Not to you. You are irrelevant to the equation.”

“So, Mr. Stark, then?”

Vision looked up again. Even through the white eyes of the Spiderman mask, the heated glare was still apparent, also with the thin line of the shown lips. After a moment of silence, Peter sighed.

“Just—you’ll let me help, right? If it ever comes to—whatever it is? I understand secrets. I really do. I have plenty of my own. But, even if whatever it is have nothing to do with me personally, if it involves the people I care about, I’d like to help.”

Vision smiled and nodded.  Peter also nodded once and turned towards the door, going towards Tony’s lab.

“Will you be here for dinner, Mr. Parker?” Vison asked just as Peter reached the door. He turned back and smiled.

“Yeah, sure!”

He was planning to call Aunt May that he was going to sleepover at a friend’s. He would need all night to scourge Tony’s computer. For information. At least, in the ones he can find access for. And the ones FRIDAY will allow him to.

(He won’t abuse Mr. Stark’s trust by hacking the man. He’s not sure he could anyway, not yet. Though, Peter had a thought that Mr. Stark would probably be more impressed than offended if he _did_. Still, it’s the principle of things)

He only needed the dots. He can do the connecting by himself.

(Besides, if something is going to happen, he better sticks to Vision. Just to make sure he won’t be left out)

* * *

The scratch of charcoal on paper was his peace, even as the black he drew grew and grew around the blue-coloured circle, the only colour on his monochromatic sketch. He wanted to reach for a shade of brown, but the shades of grey alone were enough to convey the expression he remembered, the fear. The colour was meaningless, not like the blue that flickered in his mind’s eye, of another moment (another lifetime).

Steve was trying so hard to stay the same, to stay as the man that Dr. Erskine saw when he had chosen him, gave him a chance. But, when the world changed around him, without him, he wondered where he should stand.

(All he ever wanted was to help people)

(So, when the world told him helping people was wrong, then was the world wrong, or was he?)

He knew he wasn’t fine. How could he? When he tried to let go, to accept that he would never return to his past, the pain that lanced his heart was even more painful than when the serum was injected in him. Letting go didn’t feel like cutting of an arm or a leg, instead it felt like he was trying to dig into the cervices of his heart and bleed away the pieces.

Peggy, even in her condition, was a soothing balm to ease that pain.

He thought he was getting better.

But, as he recounted the events that led him _here,_ out of the country he swore to serve, to protect, he didn’t like the picture his own words had painted.

_“Actions have their consequences, some greater than others. Sometimes, intention and reason don’t matter, right or wrong becomes irrelevant, and destruction becomes the result.”_

Vision—had said that before, hadn’t he? They were training, the news was on—another footage of Sokovia. Of people, crying for what they’ve lost, the people—and Steve had turned it off before the footage was finished. And then Vision had said that.

At first, he thought the android was talking about Tony—about Stark.  But—

(But hadn’t he stood by _his_ side? When the avengers were divided, he was firmly standing by Iron Man’s side, the side opposite of the woman he had been so fond of. So, perhaps he wasn’t talking about—)

The paper he was drawing on ripped, the tip of his charcoal pencil broke apart as a long tear was created. His heartbeat hasn’t slowed, not since—

(Destruction, death, and all he ever wanted to do was _to help people_ )

The knock on his door surprised him out of his own mind. The dark vestiges he had always tried to get away from. He couldn’t afford to lose focus, to get stuck on things that already happened.

(The past can’t return)

He had to move on.

(Moving on, keep going, one day at a time, one person at a time—)

“Who’s there?”

The knob was turned and the door opened, revealing a head full of grey hair and—

“Howard?” Steve exclaimed, confused on why the man was standing by his door. The man wasn’t smiling, his signature grin was absent, but there was a quirk on his lips that told Steve his old friend was _trying to_. Steve stood, trying to—

(What? Be a good host? What?)

“I think we all should talk, before my son gets here,” Howard said, his gaze sharp and sure. And, just like that, Steve found his footing, because this look is _familiar_ , a look he _knew_. This look was present when he flew an airplane for Steve, for Peggy. This look was present every time Howard had a solution to whatever problem the Howling Commando had.

“I—sure, I’ll call an assemble—“

“I don’t mean with your team, Steve. I’m sure you trust them with everything you have. You’ve always been the kind of guy that’s all in or not at all. By we, I mean you, me, and Sergeant Barnes.”

Steve closed his mouth, surprised.

“Bucky is in cryo.”

Howard raised an eyebrow.

“And I’m sure you won’t let him be held somewhere you can’t quickly free him from. From what you told me, it seems he was still woken at scheduled times for check-ups? Can’t you do something to wake him up? Just for our talks. And it’s better if we do this before Tony arrives. I’m not sure I can be rational when he’s around, especially considering how both of you, well, hurt him. Maria hates you now, you know.”

Somehow, Steve wasn’t surprised. Of course, she was Tony’s mother. Of course she would hate him.

“And you?” he asked, looking at Howard. Hopeful, but dreading his answer. Because—

(It doesn’t matter)

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” Howard said, stepping into the room, “You were my friend, Steve. I don’t like it, but I have to give you the benefit of a doubt, since you were my friend. I’m giving you a chance, but I need to hear what you _and Barnes_ have to say that justifies the actions you’ve done. I need perspective, because frankly, right now I’m hoping whatever brought me here will bring Peggy too just so she can smack you and hurt you, maybe even kill you a bit, because that woman loves Tony like a son.”

(Another thing he didn’t know, another secret—but was it a secret, when it was within Tony’s right to withheld that?)

( _Not like his parents murder, you didn’t have the right to hide that. Did you_?)

Steve stared at Howard for a minute, before making his decision.

“You’re right. I can. But, promise that—promise you’ll give us a chance? Maybe even—“

Howard grinned (not quite wide, not quite cheerful, but the man _tried_. So Steve ignored the slight calculating look in that grin, because Howard _always_ calculated something)

“Depends on what you both told me. But, I promise I’ll listen to your accounts. You know me, Steve.”

And Steve did.

So, he led the man away from his room, into the room where Bucky was kept frozen. Hoping, hoping, this can be the beginning, an attempt to repair what bond he had inadvertently frayed.

( _Behind him, Howard followed. His expression was devoid of emotion as he stared at the broad back of the former Captain America, the Paragon of Justice he had helped create)_

* * *

“Can’t this ridiculous excuse of a jet fly faster? My Mark I can fly faster than this, and I built it with junks in a cave!”

Tony was skittish, one knee twitching up and down, the sole of his shoe making a rapid _tap tap_ sound. He was nervous, worried of what may happen while he was still stuck on the jet.

“We’re going as fast as we can, Tones.”

“Well, not fast enough! Can’t you just go and replace the pilot or something?”

Rhodey wanted to. But, he knew once his hands touched the wheel, they won’t be heading to Wakanda anymore. He told Tony as much.

Tony gritted his teeth before huffing. Rhodey put the arm closest to the other man round the tense shoulders, an attempt to calm down the worried man.

“Why’s the hurry anyway? Was it because of what T’Challa had said? He was pretty sure nothing violent is going to happen, and he assured us it will stay that way in the entirety of our stay. Mostly passive-aggressive, one avoids the other, which is not that different from our first plan of action when we first briefed with T’Challa.”

Of course, they were mostly empty words. Rhodey knew what the Starks were capable of, what they could do just by being in the vicinity of their son. But, there was a part of him that hoped they weren’t really Tony’s parents raised from the dead, instead maybe aliens impersonating the dead, or maybe some kind of creature like the Ghouls in that one TV show his ex-girlfriend had been crazy about.

And he knew Tony knew he was aware of it.

(But, if the jet can stay just a bit longer on air, and not land in Wakanda for a while, Rhodey won’t make the jet land any sooner)

“Just—my dad, he spent most of his time looking for him. His tales were everything he would talk about with me," Tony started, expression troubled, but he was calming down. “If, just if, the couple that came out of that portal were really my parents, my dad will do something. Most likely, it will involve Barnes. Probably nothing close to mass destruction, but he was a vengeful man. I’m not even sure what I should be worried about. I know T’Challa won’t let anything happen on his soil. I know Howard was just one man, and whatever the worst thing he can do, T’Challa’s people can stop him. But, I have this—unease…”

(Rhodey thought he could speculate what Howard might be planning. It will involve Tony as the centrepiece, and that Rhodey will never let happen, no matter how much the Captain deserved the beating)

“As long as it doesn’t involve people dying, excessive destruction of Wakandan property, and you getting near them, I’m not going to worry about it.” Rhodey answered. Tony didn’t say anything, and the pensive look didn’t go away, but Rhodey counted on how Tony seemed to relax again as a win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter feels more like a filler to me... But, Bucky is (probably) going to appear soon! I'm excited I'm finally getting to this part! Are you excited?
> 
> I was actually debating if I should add in other's insight (maybe Scott, or Wanda) on the conversation between the Starks and Steve and others. But, if I don't get to the main event soon, I'm gonna lose focus on the main point of this story, so yeah...


	5. Chapter 5

_Memories don’t really go away. Some are put away, kept in a storage to make way for newer memories. Others were floating around, to put into the forefront of the mind in unexpected times, or moment’s notice. Along with age, older and less relevant memories became blurrier, but for the few brighter, important ones. The rest left behind impressions without a clear image. Children’s memories were even more fickle, yet the important moments of happiness, sadness, and hurt stayed no matter how much time passed. But, sometimes even the most important memories could be forgotten, or simply become less significant as they aged. They could eventually bury the bad with other happier, positive memories. Or, when the memory was too heavy to bear, too traumatic for their mind, sometimes they’ll simply…_ forget.

_As a child, Tony couldn’t do any of that that._

_Memories upon memories piled, filed away for him to recall in moments. They were all displayed on pedestals, even the most mundane ones. Nothing could be thrown or buried, the good or the bad. Four years’ worth of memories, happiness and hurt were remembered in the same intensity. He remembered the rare times his father would hold him in his big arms with the same intensity he remembered another big hands held his face until he could barely breathe. He remembered the smell of his mother’s scent of lilies and berries as she held him and sang lullabies to him the same as he remembered another painful hold along with the stench of sweat and exhaust, along with their yells and growls._

(Monsters, monsters, they were never under my bed)

_His memories were always clear. Even as he tried to put the happier ones in the forefront of his mind or find comfort in his mother’s embrace, the bad memories stayed side by side with the happy memories, his present memories, and his reality._

_(I had yet learned the ability to_ ignore _)_

_His mother cried when he couldn’t seem to be able to dream anything else but nightmares. When comforts and fears and hurt and happiness mixed into an abstract concept of emotion (what was the name, what is this feeling, it hurt, it’s too big in my chest, it’s too painful—)_

_He didn’t know how to differentiate them yet, the memories and the reality._

_And then, his father had promised him a shield, an invincible one. Better than Vibranium shield. One that would protect him from_ everything _. It would protect him from his memories, from the overflowing_ emotion _he couldn’t yet understand. His father would protect him. It was the memory he gladly take with him everywhere._

 _(Mama was soft, the comfort of lying down with a thousand feathers under me. Papa was strong; the security of absolute protection, of knowing without needing proof that he would_ never _let_ _me_ fall _)_

 _He didn’t know if_ they _were still hurting him, or was the pain_ not real _anymore._

(Monsters, monsters, they were never in my closet)

_And after, when the pain stopped, when Italian words reconnected him to the world, his chest felt light and his nightmares were gone. His memories were still as clear, as vivid, vibrant images across his mind, but they didn’t invoke anything in his heart. Like pictures without context, like words on reports and documentation, there only to inform him of facts and happenings in his past. They became data, invoking nothing but information and knowledge._

_His heart was untouchable, trapped inside a metaphorical cage his father created, locked with the golden key his mother crafted, so his heart became nothing but a mere organ pumping blood through his veins. Feelings of sadness, of joy, of hurt and happiness became nothing but another memory. Another data to be processed in the ever-expanding drive storing his memories_.

_(Expansion of data and codes, old and new, scripts that dictated how he should analyze the events around him, how he should walk and talk and be--)_

_(_ That child who _felt too much_ , that was once who I was. But, I am no longer that child, so who am I right now _?)_

* * *

The cold was comfortable in its familiarity. It meant there would be no pain, no mission. There won’t be words that crawled into his head and made him comply. The cold was both his prison and _safety_ , if only it meant he could rest. In the cold, he didn’t need to _feel_ or _do_.

But, there was a gentle breeze of warmth across his face. Slowly, gradually, warm breeze enveloped him. There was a moment of fear, a moment of panic.

(Warmth meant pain. Warmth meant mission.)

And then, there was a smell he had identified simply as _sterile_  and _Wakanda_ in his stuttering memory.

He tentatively tried to open his eyes, squinting once a hint of light reached his vision. When his sight adjusted, the familiar laboratory greeted him.

“Hey,” someone greeted from his side. There was another moment of alarm before he glanced and saw blond hair, a face—Steve.

“Hey,” he rasped out. He saw Steve smiled and handed him a glass of water.

“Where—Where’s the doctor?” Bucky asked after the water soothed his unused throat. Usually, when he was woken up there would be a doctor by his side before his regular check-up.  It didn’t feel like it had been long enough, but time inside the ice could blur. However, he didn’t see his regular doctor. In fact, there was no one else with them, not even one of the regular scientist. There was only Steve, still standing beside him just an arm reach away.

_(A deviation from a familiar pattern of action and activity. A deviancy)_

Irregularity unsettled him.

_(There’s something wrong)_

“Buck, there’s—,” Steve wasn’t good with words, not with the ones he had to think on, but the hesitancy raised Bucky’s sense of unease. At once, thoughts of the worst scenarios (UN found them, HYDRA attacked, Wakanda in peril, citizens in danger—) filled his head.

“Steve!” the sense of urgency hardened his word, but Bucky didn’t mean his voice to come out that harsh. Steve didn’t exactly flinch, but he came close.

(He only hesitated when he felt guilty about something, flinching when he was unsure, the memory of Bucky said)

Steve then told him of the hole in the sky and the people that came with it.

_‘Howard Stark is—‘_

Then, as if the thought summoned the man, Howard strolled in. He was older than the one in Bucky’s memories, but the Winter Soldier remembers the feeling of his hand crushing the skull which had that _exact same face_ —

“Hello, Sergeant Barnes.”

_(“Sergeant Barnes?”)_

Then, it was as if the world washed out around him. He noticed Steve talking ( _admonishing? Why?)_ the older one, words and sentences were said that Bucky could hear, but couldn’t process.  There was reply, but Bucky only watched Howard’s lips moving. Then, the corner of his vision had Steve looking on worryingly (at him? _Them_?), almost fidgeting. However, his focus was only on _Howard Stark_.

 _(_ _“Do you even remember them?”)_

_(“I remember everything.”)_

“I killed you,” were the words Bucky finally uttered. His tone was devoid of feeling, of any inflection. He couldn’t recognize the _something_ inside his sternum, beyond the emptiness of his lungs and the rapid thump of his heart.

Howard Stark merely raised an eyebrow before he took a seat a distance away from them, Steve still standing between them.

“And I heard both of you hurt my son, which I have to say is more offensive than you killing me. People wanted to kill me all the time, you’re simply the one that managed.”

Howard spoke with every surety Bucky could remember in the man’s younger days; as if there was no other fact that could displace the truth of his words. However, Bucky found his heartbeat still won’t calm down.

_(“I remember everything.”)_

“I’m sorry I hurt your son,” was all Bucky managed to say, but before he could add more apology, Steve interjected.

“No, it wasn’t Bucky’s fault. After Tony saw the video, he attacked us. I told Bucky to run while I tried to hold him off, but then Tony blew Bucky’s arm and I—“

“Yes, you’ve told me already, Steve,” Howard’s tone was unreadable, even to Bucky. He couldn’t help but think that Steve should’ve kept his mouth shut.

“Howard—“ Steve tried again, his expression was pleading and determined, and Bucky was sure whatever Steve was about to say will only make _it_ worse.

( _What is_ it _? What is_ this _? Something in the back if his mind—)_

“—it wasn’t Bucky! _Hydra_ tortured him, used him, _brainwashed_ him, and I couldn’t let Tony—“

 _(My hands beat this man. I saw light leaving his eyes, felt his blood dripping under my fingers. I remember how my thumb cut off his_ wife’s _air)_

“Stop,” he thought he said, but Steve kept _speaking_.

“—hurt him! Bucky’s my _best_ _friend_ —“

Howard wasn’t looking at Steve anymore. Instead, he was looking back at Bucky. There was _something_ in his eyes—

 _(This man was a friend. This man was_ his _father. A father, who_ loves _his son beyond—)_

“STOP IT!”

Bucky didn’t even realize he had raised his voice.

_(When was the last time he raised his voice, when he wasn’t screaming in pain instead?)_

Bucky was almost embarrassed at how loud his voice was once silence filled the room, but Steve finally halted his words and instead stared at him, stunned. Howard—was still looking at him with that unreadable look, not speaking.

_(Howard, calculating inside his workshop back in the War. Howard, observing with a smile on his lips the videos of his son’s accomplishment in college far from him)_

“Steve, can you leave?” the words came out more like an order than the request it was supposed to be. Steve looked even more taken aback, eyes wide and surprised ( _and hurt)_ , but Bucky didn’t want Steve defending him. Not to the person he had _killed_.

 _(And the_ something _in Howard’s eyes, the_ something _that Steve couldn’t see—)_

“Buck—“

“ _Please_ ,” _leave_. The word went unsaid this time, but it echoed in the silence that followed. The spoken word alone had enough hardness that it had sounded more like another order.

_(Almost like anger. Am I? Angry? For whom? At whom?)_

_(Can I be?)_

_(…Am I allowed to?)_

Steve had pursed his lips, stance familiar in its stubbornness, seemingly ready to argue again. Bucky finally shifted his sight back at Steve. He didn’t know what Steve saw in his eyes that made the blond flinch, but whatever it was managed to back Steve down. Steve left after one last look at both Bucky and Howard, still hesitating even as he closed the door after him.

“And don’t eavesdrop. I’ll know,” Bucky half-announced, half-said. There was silence again, but Bucky’s hearing could listen Steve’s awkward feet shuffling away. Once he was sure the man was gone, Bucky looked at Howard again.

_(I remember his last words to me)_

Howard was still looking at him. Bucky was still standing, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was observed under a microscope.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, but the apology didn’t feel like it was _important_ anymore. Not when he remembered the pain in Tony Starks’s face, when he remembered that _he killed his family, he was the reason Tony Stark was—is, an orphan._

“Well, you certainly apologize better than Rogers did,” Howard said, tone calm and too collected for Bucky’s liking, too composed when—

_(The eyes when he looked at Steve Rogers, they were--)_

“You’re angry,” the words didn’t come out as a revelation, but more of a statement. Because, of course the man was angry, why would anyone think he wouldn’t? However, Bucky didn’t think anyone else saw it, the simmering anger in Howard Stark’s eyes, not when nothing in his face or in his body language showed that anger, the rage that was barely contained.

The calm Howard projected felt almost _dangerous_.

“More disappointed than angry, actually,” Howard said, though Bucky could barely believe it. “But, I guess that’s what I get for believing someone could be more than they are.”

“…What?” The left corner of Howard’s lips twitched.

“Human,” Howard answered. “Peggy and I, we always believed that Steve Rogers were the best out of us, always the better man. Turns out, even Steve Rogers were prone to selfish decisions, especially when it concerned you.”

The anger didn’t leave Howard’s eyes.

“I get it, you know,” Howard said, eyes finally straying away from Bucky. “I was once on the Government’s Most Wanted List, accused as a traitor. Someone stole my weapons and they used them to kill countless of people. I tried to defend myself, but they still accused me of selling them to terrorists and charged me with treason. It was a false accusation, of course. Hydra was indirectly involved too, then. My situation was different from yours, but I do get it.”

Bucky couldn’t see whatever similarity Howard might see in their situation. With the Vienna bombing, maybe. But, in the grand scheme of things, the bombing might as well be irrelevant. He was Winter Soldier long before the Accords became an idea.

“I had to leave the country. But, of course I couldn’t stay away long. So I came back and asked Peggy to help me clear my name. There was a time when I had to turn myself in to save her, but I did it in the end, and they finally found me innocent.”

Bucky thought their situation were grossly different. Bucky didn’t ask Steve to help him and Steve couldn’t do anything to clear his name. Not when he _had_ done everything Winter Soldier _allegedly_ did. He _was not innocent._

Howard Stark himself was proof.

“I don’t see it,” Bucky reached of the nearest chair and sat down. “Whatever similarity you’re seeing, I don’t see it. I might’ve been framed for the bombing, but killing you and your wife was something I did with my own hands. Even if I give myself now, I won’t be found innocent, _because I’m not_. Steve was too blinded to see it then and they won’t find him innocent either now, not after all the lives and properties destroyed when he chased me.”

It was more than he ever said to anyone. The things he said was one that already flashed through his mind when Steve broke through the army of policemen to get him, one he never gave voice to around Steve and his rag-tag group of a team. But, the King of Wakanda probably already knew it too.

Howard raised an eyebrow, but then his eyes flitted towards the ceiling in thought, before he nodded his assent and his eyes returned to Bucky. It was too terribly casual and Bucky, still shocked upon seeing the man alive in front of him, had a thought he was still in ice and was currently dreaming a scarily realistic dream.

“Hmm, I guess you have a point there,” the man said, and there was a little rise on the right corner of his lips that _scared_ Bucky, the terrible casualness between them. This kind of casualness shouldn’t exist between a ghost and his murderer.

Bucky wanted to _run_.

“But, I did promise Rogers I’ll listen to your side of the story. So, let’s talk.”

* * *

When the plane finally landed, Rhodey could see the older woman standing beside the familiar figure of the Wakandan King, surrounded by a couple of the King’s Royal Guards, the Dora Milaje. Rhodey noticed Shuri by her brother’s side, noticeably _not_ standing between T’Challa and the older woman.

 _(How easy for them to trust her, mark her as harmless, because of her_ mask _she showed on others_ )

The woman whose eyes were similar to Tony's, whose face was familiar enough to Rhodey, considering the time he had spent around the old manor to keep Tony company. Also, he had spent a few months obsessing over their past news, their charities and accomplishments, wondering _how_ they could ever do what they’ve done to their only child that they claimed to love.

“She’s really here….,” he heard Tony said right beside his right ear. Tony was leaning on Rhodey, staring through the window as they waited the plane to turn off its engines. Rhodey thought it was a good enough stalling technique, but as he watched Tony’s raptured stare at the woman with the face of his mother and heard the wistful tone he rarely heard before, he knew it was a bad idea.

Tony, despite everything, still loves them with the memory of them in his childhood, _before_.

Rhodey knew this. Tony had told him himself, long ago. Rhodey didn’t forget. He couldn’t.

( _But, once Tony Stark set his mind to do something, who in the world could ever stop him?_ )

Rhodey watched, dreading the moment they have to stand and go outside the plane, as his best friend wears the face that he himself wore the first time he returned back from a long tour to his family, the same face his mother and father greeted him whenever he came back _home_.

He watched the smile stretching on Tony’s lips, one of the smiles that Tony didn’t know he was making, and Rhodey’s heart breaks a little bit more when he could see the _child_ _before_ in that smile.

 _‘I should’ve stopped him, even if I have to tie him up to the tower’s basement,’_ Rhodey thought, half regretful, as the engines finally stopped and the door began to open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo..... memories probably don't work like that...... Also, a pretty short chapter, considering the very long wait. Turns out, this will get long, and I've decided to stand by my first decision on making this WinterIron, or at least heavy on the hints towards that. The others will take quite a time to appear again, and the next chapter is heavy on Bucky and Howard. Hey, they're talking, and while I have half a mind to just skip and retell it in parts as flashbacks or hints later, I want to write Bucky's side of the story in CW events. Probably heavily biased against Steve's team, but hey, this story has been since the first chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

_“Stark men are made of iron,” Howard had once said. Stark men were stubborn and headstrong, forged under heat and cold. Their shapes changed as needed, a weapon, a shield, or a support. Howard was a social chameleon, Master of All Trades. He was at once an engineer, a weapon manufacturer, an inventor, a scientist, a businessman—he was everywhere, running everything, like the iron in human veins._

_Only, iron was sometimes overlooked. Never forgotten, never out of mind, but it was so common that sometimes people forgot. So, when people remember Howard, sometimes they forgot one facet of the man to remember others. Some remember his callousness to forget his passion. Some remember his playboy days to forget the one woman he chose to stay by his side. Some remember him as a businessman, to forget he was a man that had been in a war. A chameleon whose charisma runs deep in his bones, and the man knew how to wield his words like forged iron._

_(A weapon, a shield, a support)_

_Where Howard was iron, then Maria would be diamond. Beautiful under the light, fragile in one look, expensive as hell and belong in bulletproof glass cages. But, diamond is one of the strongest element. Maria held her head high under the pressure of being Howard Stark’s wife and emphasized her beauty, even when the people nearest to her knew how her brilliance lay somewhere else beyond her look. Her light created mirages, illusions that made her look as if she was nothing but a housewife by her husband’s side, a trophy wife for him to show off, just another accessory to Howard Stark’s success. But, she gave comfort and calm to those disgruntled by Howard’s eccentricities. She gave charities for every profit Howard gained. She was ice to Howard’s fire._

_Despite what the public thought of her, Howard would never settle for someone less brilliant, less special, than himself. The brilliance that she showed only to him, to Jarvis, to their closest one, including_ her _was one of the closely kept secret in the family._

_Of course, their son would be the most special of them all._

_Made of iron and cased in diamond, his mind brighter than his parents combined. He was everything, a combination of the best features of his parents. Even as a baby his brilliance shone, his genius that surpassed even Howards’, understanding that went far beyond a baby should be, wrapped in the most adorable package the world couldn’t resist. He was easy to love, so easy. He was the one thing that Howard had loved unconditionally, and the only one Maria would give her whole heart to._

She _had_ _loved him instantly._

_But, his heart was of his own making. Naïve, soft, special and kind and loving. Combined with a mind that never forgets, pain that linger forever in his memory even after his body heals, happiness and betrayal had a steeper price on him, far more than anyone his age should ever bear._

_(Heart that bleeds to easily, mind that remembers everything, wounds relieved through memories and hardly ever_ heals _)_

She _should have seen it coming._

(She _did¸ didn’t_ she? _)_

She _shouldn’t have_ understood.

 _(But, monsters gather around him, like moths drawn to a flame. And how easy it was for him to love—to_ be loved— _with a heart so soft, so naïve, fragile in its childishness and innocence—how easy it was to_ break)

 _However, when the large eyes that had lost their emotions stared back at_ her _,_ she _couldn’t help but think that maybe,_ maybe _, this is for the best._

_(This way, whatever may happen in the future, nothing will ever truly hurt him anymore)_

She hated _herself in the years after for that one stray thought._

* * *

After being figuratively ‘kicked out’ of the room, Steve wondered if he should try to keep eavesdropping. But, he also thought that maybe having this talk with Howard was what Bucky needed to let go of his guilt. After all, those deaths weren’t his fault. He was brainwashed, nothing more than a weapon for Hydra to aim at. If Bucky could finally believe that, maybe he’ll get a little bit better. Maybe he won’t blame himself so much anymore.

 _(Maybe, he could eventually trust himself to be outside of that_ ice _)_

With nowhere else to go, he returned to his room instead. There was half of him that wanted to know so badly what they were talking about, if Howard forgave Bucky, if they really were talking instead of killing each other. _(But, they weren’t Steve and Tony, who can’t seem to have a proper_ talk)

Another half was desperately trying to respect Bucky’s choices, and it was that part that led his heavy feet back into his room. He realized that everything he was trying to do seem to make everything worse. Clint, Sam, Wanda, even Tony and Bucky. He didn’t know if he made Scott’s life worse, but considering the man has family yet gotten stuck _here_ , it was most likely that he did.

With Tony, he truly believed he was protecting him by not telling him that his parents’ were murdered. He wasn’t sure it was Bucky (a murderer wearing his _best_ friend’s face). He just wanted to make sure if it was _Bucky,_ or simply a shell without a shred of Bucky inside, before he’d tell Tony.

_(And Bucky still exist in there, in fragments inside the shell of the Winter Soldier, so how could he ever tell Tony?)_

He thought it was a horrible thing to happen, the murders and the deaths, but there was nothing to be done besides eliminating Hydra. _(The dead are dead, they can’t ever return--)_

Bucky was another victim, but the murderer wore his face. The weapon that _wasn’t_ Bucky.

It was terrible feeling, having to choose between his two friends. But, Bucky has no one else, no one that would stand on his corner, not in this present. There was only him. Tony—will always have Rhodey and Pepper.

( _But he_ almost _didn’t. He broke up with Pepper, and Rhodey—fell)_

Tony will still have the Avengers.

 _(The first time, Fury brought them together. Coulson’s death made them work together. But, it was Tony that made them a_ team _._

_Oh, but look who are here with you. Count them out, you took that away too)_

In his room, Steve threw himself on the bed, an arm covering his eyes as he laid down. The sigh he let out was a tired one, so tired. In the silence of his room, he wondered what he should do next.

 _(So lost, so lonely, so_ alone _. The silence gnawed at him, too used by the sound of the street in Brooklyn, of SHIELD’s agents coming and going, of the constant technological humming of Tony’s Tower. The silence--)_

There was a sound of plane coming, one that sounded familiar and he searched for a name—a Stark jet—and just like that Steve was up and reached for his window, searching the sky for—there, the familiar airplane Tony often used for business flying low enough, heading to the Wakandan’s airways, and Steve remembered with sudden clarity ( _he didn’t forget, but only now the information settled in—)_ that Tony is _coming_.

There was fear, because _what if he knows—_ and also _longing,_ because—

_(I never meant for things to be this way. I never wanted to choose. I missed y—)_

* * *

There was nowhere to run. He wouldn’t, not again. Not now, no matter how scared he might be right now.

_(But, what is it, what scares him so much, from this ghost of Howard Stark? What is it—he can’t remember—)_

“Well, I said talk, but I don’t think you know what you should explain to me, not with how ready you are with your apology. So, maybe I should start with you answering me,” Howard continued, as if they _weren’t_ the murderer and the murdered. Bucky’s heartbeat was still drumming heavily inside his ribcage, but he took a deep breath in his attempt to calm down and simply nodded. Howard acknowledged it with another little raise by the corners of his lips.

_(Never a full smile, or a full smirk, because why would he give that to you, his murderer?)_

“I have to say though, my opinions of you is now slightly raised because of that apology. Rogers’ apology sounded more like an excuse and he didn’t think he actually did anything wrong, which really grated me there. I actually expected that from you, considering you were the one brainwashed and it was fully in your right to claim how it wasn’t _you_ , and I expected better from him than excuses, considering he was Steve Rogers.”

Bucky was hoping that this is really a dream. Hoping that he _was_ talking to a _ghost._

_(Ghosts can’t tell the living the truths they were told)_

“It’s not that he didn’t think he did something wrong,” Bucky tried. Howard wasn’t asking a question, but he felt like he should defend Steve on this one, or at least try to explain what he did see.

_(His anger for Steve was there in his eyes, but it doesn’t show anywhere else, not even in voice, despite the words)_

 “He does feel guilty and maybe even scared. I don’t think he even knows what he was doing anymore and where he went wrong. I told him I don’t think I was worth everything he was doing, everything he destroyed, and I don’t think he was sure either by the end. But, his stubbornness made him to keep going,” he said.  Maybe it was because Howard was a ghost that his tongue felt looser and everything he only kept in his mind finally found their way to his lips.

_(Or maybe it was the memory of the dead man with the same face under his arm, a long time ago. After all, talking to the dead have always been easier)_

The corners of Howard’s lips rose again, just a little like before.

 “And my son was a collateral among others in his path to get—no, not get, _protect_ you?”

Bucky didn’t flinch, but he barely held it. _A collateral—_

 _(Maria Stark was a collateral. Howard Stark was—the mission. Himself, just another soldier found in Hydra’s path, another_ collateral _)_

“In a way, yes. Your son tried to talk to him, back in Leipzig. By then, I already told him about other Winter Soldiers, and my mission to put them down before they became international threat. He supported me and was trying to help me. At first, I thought he would bring it up with your son, to ask for the Accords’ support. I couldn’t approach him, not when I—killed you, and being framed, but Steve thought the Accords would hinder us instead. So, he called others to help, and kept it secret. Our mission was just to stop the other Winter Soldier from being used the way Zemo did to me, and after the situation was handled Steve would prove my innocence on the bombing using Zemo and the other Winter Soldiers as proof. He was also set to prove the world that the Accords was wrong. But, in the end Zemo played us all.”

_(“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers. Did you know?”)_

“The video. Steve did tell me about that, how he lied to my son’s face and attacked him because he was trying to protect you.”

_(“Yes”)_

Howard was still looking at Bucky, and Bucky didn’t dare to look away. Howard had his elbows resting on his thigh now, hands locked under his chin and he was leaning forward, listening to every words Bucky had to say. He had noticed the general lack of fear from the man since he entered the lab, the casual way he had been sitting since he took a seat. This uncertainty of Howard’s thought, the way his subtle _anger_ conflicted with his body language Bucky took in as _danger._

His heart was still beating too fast and this _leaning forward_ was almost like a taunt, saying _‘I dare you to try and kill me again’_.

“He came to aid us, before that video. He said he knew about Zemo and came as our backup. I thought that was swell of him, even though I was suspicious of it. But Steve was—I could see it in his eyes. He was hopeful, more than when it was only two of us in that bunker. Then, that video—“

Bucky stopped, because from there on he would only repeating what Steve had already said. And, at that moment forward, his thoughts were mostly on either running or fighting back. He couldn’t _presume_ to know what went on Steve’s head in that moment, more over the younger Stark (besides the grief, the betrayal, _the hurt that reflected in his eyes before the mask came down)_.

Howard finally leaned back, still deceptively relaxed though Bucky could detect the tenseness around his shoulders and jaws. Subtle, unseen through unenhanced eyes and if one wasn’t looking for it.

( _Another sign of anger, but it was nothing Bucky didn’t expect. This was—_ expected.)

“So, my son was only trying to do the right thing, Rogers was trying to do what he _thought_ was the right thing, and there’s you, trying to…do what? Getting revenge on those that created you? Doing the right thing, like Rogers? Or trying to clear your name? From the way you talked about it, I think you don’t believe there was anything left of your name you could clear. If you wanted revenge, you would’ve killed Zemo already. As for doing the right thing, I don’t think you believe that, not really. So, what was your motivation in that fight?”

Despite the words, the questions were asked as if he was simply curious, as if there was no underlying anger there. As if they were back in time and hanging out with the team in the local bar, with him asking Bucky what kind of gun he preferred for certain field, what was his type of girl and which girl in the room he would take home tonight if he could.

 _(There was something he had to fear from Howard Stark, something he made note about. Something that Peggy knew, that she warned them about but they didn’t take it seriously. Something—he can’t remember. He’s only seeing the man that asked his murderer to_ please, help my wife— _)_

“Does it matter?” Bucky asked, eyes still settled on the _ghost_. “I still hurt him, your son. Intention don’t matter much in that, does it? He’s your _son_. Me hurting you is different from me hurting him. Killing you was a mission, killing your wife was erasing the witness, but hurting him in Siberia was something I had no right to do, not after I made him an orphan and he was simply reacting to that knowledge.”

There was a slight relaxing of Howard’s shoulder, but there was no _safety_ yet, because Howard’s eyes didn’t change. However, there was a small _smirk_ , one that is a little more prominent than the simple upward tick in the corner of his lips.

“You’re right, it doesn’t matter. You certainly understand what I’m doing here, much better than those outside this room anyway.”

The fear _surged_.

_(What was he doing? What will he do? I should—)_

His remaining hand clenched, eyes finally darting away from this _ghost_ , trying to find a way out, before inevitably returning to Howard again.

(There was no way out, not from this room, not without the King’s permission. He knew this before he even _woke up. Why else would he sit here, talking to a ghost he isn’t even sure is real?_ )

Howard smiled, not quite real, but trying to be reassuring.

_(Don’t smile, I killed you, don’t smile like I just broke one of your prototype gun)_

“Don’t look so panicked, Sergeant. I’m not going to do anything to hurt you. I wasn’t lying, I did want to hear your side of the story. I can tell you even unloaded quite a few things you didn’t or haven’t said to Rogers, right?”

_(“Yeah, no, it’s okay Barnes. It is just a prototype. Well, a hundred thousand dollar prototype, but hey, if it breaks down and don’t work, that means I did something wrong somewhere... which is a bummer and rare to happen, I assure you. That explosion was fun, though—Pegs, did you see that awesome blast? A few calibration and a little bit of input from Barnes, and it’ll be good to go!”_

_“It blew up, Howard. The Colonel wasn’t impressed.”_

_“But it was awesome! Barnes agreed!”_

_“He felt guilty for ruining a hundred thousand dollars worth of prototype, not agreeing that it was awesome. You can go, Sergeant Barnes. I think Steve was looking for you.”_

_“…You’re no fun, Pegs. No fun.”)_

“I am sorry,” was what Bucky said again, this time he was looking down because _he can’t unsee the memory_ , and Howard was looking at him _like that_

(fake? Real? He couldn’t tell this time, not with the memories showing him a similar _face, younger_ —)

For a second, then two, Howard didn’t say anything. Bucky’s training told him to look _up_ , to not let the _threat (a threat? How?)_ out of his sight. But, the little piece of memory brought a little more _Bucky_ back, and he felt _ashamed_.

Then, Howard stood up.

“I’m going to come close to you now,” Howard said, before he stepped a little bit closer. If Bucky still had his metal arm, said arm would probably dart out to stop him. But, his flesh hand stayed tightened into fist on his lap. Bucky wondered with no little amount of fear of what Howard might do.

_(You’ll deserve it. He was your kill. You were his murderer. But, human as he was, what could he do to you?)_

Howard’s arms hovered slowly towards his shoulders as if—as if—

_(“There’s a trick to embracing women, my dear friends. Too tightly, they’ll get suffocated and scared, or think that you’re trying to feel them up, which is rude. Too lose, they’ll feel like you don’t like them and they don’t mean anything, which is also rude and might get you a slap. The position of your arms also—what, you don’t believe me? Come on, I’ll show you! Pegs, help me, will you?”_

_“Ugh, no, you’re disgusting, Stark. Get one of the guys to hug you if you want it so much.”_

_Steve shrugged. “I don’t mind. I hug Bucky all the time.”_

_“Steve? No, you’ll crush me with your super-serumed arms. Barnes, then!”_

_A raise of eyebrows. A shrug. Then Howard came closer, arms raised in the air, around his head, about to land around his shoulders._

_“…Why am I doing this again? This is weird, and I’m not even hugging you yet.”_

_Laughter. Then there was heat, and Steve, one arm around Howard, one arm around me. A woman’s laughter. A group laughing.)_

And there was—a sting. By reflex he looked up, facing Howard—who was suddenly _too close_ —

“I promise I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said, face calm and trying to be _reassuring_ again—

His arm won’t move—

Howard’s face came closer, but there was no voice in his throat, no muscles would move—

Then, by his right ear, Howard spoke.

“ _Желание_ (Longing)—“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flashback beginnings are getting longer. Anyone have a thought on who 'she' is? Probably easy to guess lol. Also another cliff.... I Hope you're still with me so far though. I promise, the next one will have Tony and Maria having a tearful reunion. Or not tearful. Either or.
> 
> So, this was a fast one. This chapter was already mostly done far before the previous one even had four paragraphs done. I can't promise the next one will be as fast. Thank you for all that stayed with this story so far, despite how long it took me to post the previous one!

**Author's Note:**

> I am actually a bit surprised more people like the previous story than I thought. I'm not even entirely sure what Tony suffered was actually Stockholm Syndrome, since I am, in no way, a psychologist or a psychiatrist. I thought it was close enough, maybe, in some abstract way. I thank everyone of you that have left Kudos and comments and gave me the motivation to actually work on the story.


End file.
